If I stare at a blank page enough it will come. I tell myself this every time I go to write about it. It. The looming “it” that consumes me and tears a hole through me every day, every night, the “it” that I have to accept is real. The “it” that is breaking my heart.
He’s gone, I tell myself. He’s gone and he’s not coming back, and there’s nothing to do now but cry and keep my head up and keep going, just keep going because I have to, I have a hell of a lot of work to do, work on myself and don’t pay attention to it, don’t let it eat you until there’s nothing left, don’t think of all that could have been because it isn’t now, it isn’t going to happen because I’m alone and there’s a space in me where he should be and he isn’t there anymore. He’s gone, and it’s real. And I have to keep going.
Don’t stop, because stopping means giving in, submitting to the pain and emptiness, giving in to the hole inside me and I can’t do that, there’s so much to be done, so much work that I have to do so I can be healthier, be stronger, so I can deal with it without falling to pieces every day, there has to be a day when I don’t fall to pieces because it’s getting so hard to gather all those pieces up all the time and carefully put them back together.
Then a memory will come and it all falls apart again.
The future is different now. All my hopes and dreams, he was there in them, in all my plans, in all my adventures, in everything and now it’s gone, he’s gone, and I’m alone again. Again.
There’s no blame, or anger anymore. That faded quickly, fell into the hole inside me along with smiling and laughing and joy and dreams and plans and there has to be a light at the end of the tunnel but it’s so dark right now.
I’m afraid of the dark.
And it’s not fair, it’s just not fair, this isn’t what was supposed to happen we had plans, we had dreams, and this is all wrong, this ending doesn’t fit the story it wasn’t supposed to end, not like this, not now. Not ever.
But it did. And I’m lucky, so lucky to have shoulders to cry on and people to listen as the tears fall and I and mourn and try to sort all these pieces of me that are constantly falling apart at the seams. Nothing can keep them in place right now. So I gather them and hold the fragile shards of what I was, what I am, I cradle them as gently as I can and wait for the strength to put them back together.
I’m still waiting.
There isn’t any anger. No spite, no rage. Just pieces of me held like a child in my arms, and I have to find a way to keep them together until I can put them back where they belong. But there will always be a piece missing now. I’m incomplete, and I have to make my way like that, because there’s no going back. I have to keep the pieces together.
I’ve always hated puzzles.
But everything is a puzzle now. And I have to put the remaining pieces together and go on, keep going, try to just be. Be without that piece. Just be. That’s all I can do right now. I can just…be. And I am. And I’m just keeping the remainder of my pieces together and someday, somehow, I’ll put them back together again as best as I can. But it won’t be complete. That time has passed. Lift my head up and keep going with the hole inside. It’s the only way.
That’s what I have to do.
Just keep going.